Of Death And Coffee Runs
by Pages of Yellow
Summary: "Reid smiled despite his situation. He could almost imagine his epitaph. 'Spencer Reid: coffee lover to the end.'" Character death.
1. Of Death And Coffee Runs

_Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here._

_And when it does come, we no longer exist._

Epicurus

* * *

><p>Knowing you're going to die is a funny thing.<p>

It's like having an ominous storm cloud above your head, never quite knowing when the lightening will strike, only that it will.

Yes, Spencer Reid thought that knowing you're to die is a funny thing. But that thought didn't come till much later.

Reid's mind was far too worried to have such darkly humorous revelations.

He blinked slowly, his brain running to catch up with the world as everything snapped back into focus, like a camera struggling to capture a photo.

He inhaled sharply, hot air pinging against his throat.

_ Crap… _

_ He was in so much trouble._

Honestly, which deity had he pissed off? What was it about him that made him such a magnet for psychopaths?

Sure he brushed off his teammates jokes with indignant scoffs, but he sometimes wondered if there really was something wrong with him.

He knew enough to be sure that he would get some serious shit about this one. Really, how had he managed to get buried alive?

They were in Corvallis, Oregon, a relatively small town with around 50,000 residents.

_54,462_, his mind corrected automatically.

And, of course, they were chasing a bad guy. Five men, all in their late twenties to early thirties, brown hair, slight figure, had been kidnapped, put into coffins, and buried, to die a horrible, suffocating death.

The first three victims were actually buried at cemeteries, and the only reason anyone noticed anything to be wrong was the freshly overturned dirt. When security was beefed up around all cemeteries the unsub started burying bodies at random locations. He escalated too, panicking and killing two men in the course of a few days.

Tracking the coffins was no help, as, _of course_, they were hand made. The unsub had eluded capture at every turn but now he was devolving.

Which was very good for the team of profilers, as he was sure to slip up now.

And he had.

It was just very bad for Reid, because he was in fact the unsub's mistake.

Reid reached blindly out at his surroundings, tracing the rough walls of his prison. His heart knocked against his ribcage, and he willed his pulse to slow. He needed to conserve air, not having the slightest idea of how long he'd been trapped.

He pushed fruitlessly against the gnarled wood. He pounded his knuckles, and tried to heave the ceiling with his knees. He knew it was useless, the unsub built the coffins himself out of sturdy, ugly wood and very sturdy extra ugly two inch nails—the only way to open them was with a crowbar—but he had to try. Kicking and screaming as much as he could, Reid realized that the skin of hands were being rubbed raw. Maybe, just maybe someone would hear him…

_ Thump. _

Reid flinched, startled at the noise.

_ Thump. _

Oh god. He recognized the sound.

_Thump. _

The very distinct sound of dirt smacking wood—he was being actively buried.

Fantastic.

_ Thump. _

No. He couldn't panic. His team would find him. He would be okay.

Morgan would smack the back of his head, affectionately telling him that the next time he got himself kidnapped by a psycho he'd strangle Reid himself. Rossi would nod, and maybe grin a little at his expense, but his dark eyes would be intense, and convey everything he'd never say aloud. Hotch would appraise him with an equal amount of intensity, but would keep his words short and meaningful—perhaps even reprimand Morgan. Emily would place her hand on his arm, and smile beautifully. JJ would hug him, slip in a Spence or two, and tell him how glad she was that he was okay. Garcia… well she'd have a field day and alter between spoiling him and threatening implant a GPS tracking device in his skull.

_Thump._

He'd been so consumed by his thoughts, that he hadn't notice the lack of light. His breath quickened, and he immediately berated himself. Panicking was _not_ an option.

Still… the chilling darkness. Reid he literally couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

_Proprioception_, he thought with a small snort.

The darkness was suffocating. Like it was its own substance, seeping into every crevice of Reid's sight. It was everywhere and everything and being deprived of one of his basic senses scared Reid, a lot more than he liked.

Pushing against him, the darkness was slowly invading his body. He was becoming apart of the darkness. He was slipping away into the horrible terrible never-ending night of black. The obsidian sea was pulling under, and he could feel his chest tighten and—

_No!_ he commanded himself. _Stop thinking like that. You'll drive yourself to hysteria and use up the limited oxygen supply you have._ _Think of something, anything to distract yourself. _

Since 2000 the number of suffocation-related injuries has increased to more than 20,000 annually.

In the 17th century there were 149 cases of actual premature burial.

T. M. Montgomery reported in 1896 that 2% of all exhumed were victims of suspended animation.

In 1984, a pathologist was conducting a post-mortem examination in New York. At the first incision, the "corpse" jumped up and grabbed him by the throat. The pathologist died of shock.

_ Thump._

The constant and steady steam of facts calmed him, but didn't completely block out the stomach twisting fear. He thought back to how exactly he'd gotten into this mess.

Everyone was stretched thin. It had been a long couple of days, and they knew that the unsub would strike again soon because of his spiral. Prentiss accidentally spilled coffee on Reid's arm, soiling his watch and partially scalding his arm. He shrugged it off, and offered to make a coffee run for everyone—the police station crap was as drinkable as liquid tar, and about as appetizing.

He was making his way back from the café just down the street, when his phone chirped, distracting him for just the second the unsub needed to knock him out from behind, unread text message and trays of boiling liquid clattering to the ground.

_ Thump. _

Reid smiled despite his situation. He could almost imagine his epitaph.

_ Spencer Reid: coffee lover to the end. _

Or perhaps, _Spencer Reid—Friend, Son, And Socially Awkward Prodigy Who Was Murdered By A Deteriorating Serial Killer While On A Latte Run._

No. Too poignant and lengthy.

_At least his last meal, Was one of sugar and appeal._

Too vague, he shook his head.

_A genius he was, till the end, If only you'd tell it to his friends, Who only saw an idiot in he, As he wasted his last breath on cries for coffee._

Maybe. It had possibilities. Something shorter, though?

_Here's to hoping the afterlife's got an espresso machine._

Wait, he had it: _Here lies a genius, Who meant more to his family than he could ever gleam, Who smiled and laughed, And was a proud addict of his one true love: caffeine._

Reid laughed. He grinned and laughed until he had to swipe at the tears in his eyes with the bloody stubs of his fingers.

The eerily creepy fact that he was contemplating what his tombstone would say didn't register anywhere in him.

The tossing of dirt to his coffin ceased, which meant either that the unsub was done, or he was so far underground he could no longer hear any external actions from beyond his grave. As illogical as it seemed, Reid actually missed the noise. It was preferable to the cold feeling of being alone. The silence was icy, contrary to the thick, steaming air.

Reid sighed. He had always been a patient man. But the kind of waiting he was doing was… nothing short of torturous.

Every sliver of wood, every thread of the fabric of his shirt, every cell of his skin was saturated in darkness. It was stealing away every bit of him, wiping him from existence, banishing him to the shadows.

_Come on, Reid. Don't give into the fear. Not now. Focus on something._ He chastened internally.

Okay. Focusing on something. He could do that.

_0_

_ 1_

_ 1_

_ 2_

_ 3_

_ 5_

His eyelids drooped, and the whoosh of breath into his lungs calmed.

_ 8_

_ 13_

_ 21_

He curled his fingers in reflexively, as the warm, earthy scent of wood soothed his mind.

_ 34_

_ 55_

_ 89_

_ 144_

The last coherent thought that swirled in Reid's head before he drifted to sleep was how his teammates would never let it go if they came to rescue and found him napping.

A smile flitted across his unconscious face.

* * *

><p>Reid blinked at his harsh white surroundings. He tried to focus on something, but nothing but bright, excruciating white lights hit his eyes. Light and…<p>

"Prentiss?" He asked incredulously. She brushed a few runaway raven locks from her face and smiled at him.

"Hey there, we were wondering when you'd zonk out on us. Morgan said you wouldn't last five minutes, which, considering the air you had was generous. But you held on, nice going genius."

"What? Am I… dead?"

She laughed brilliantly. "Of course not. You're dreaming."

"Oh."

"Hey kid."

Reid turned to see Morgan as well as the rest of his team grinning at him.

"What's wrong?"

JJ moved closer, her baby blues smiling at him. "Nothing's wrong. Why would you ask that?"

Reid frowned. "Hotch is smiling. It's… perturbing."

Prentiss laughed again, and everyone else followed suit. "We're smiling because we're happy to see you."

"Happy? I thought you just said you're all manifestations of my unconscious."

"Well yeah, Boy Wonder." Garcia practically flew to him, pinching his cheek lightly. The white was now far more colorful. "But we love you."

"Yeah, remember it, Pretty Boy. We love you."

"Exactly. You're our family, Spence."

"You're like our little brother. And I'm the awesome older sister."

"_Psh_, awesome. Keep dreaming. There's only ever one awesome sibling, which is me, sister."

"Both of you be quiet. This is about Reid."

"Yeah okay… _dad_."

Giggles.

"Where exactly do I fit on this family tree?"

"Grandpa for sure."

"_Excuse me?_"

"Um, cool uncle?"

"Mhm, that's what I thought."

"What part of 'This is about Reid' don't you people understand?"

"Lighten up pops, we're only having fun."

"… _What_ did you just call me, Morgan?"

"Uh, I—Sorry Special Agent Hotchner, uh, sir."

More giggles.

"Reid, we just want you to know that you're our family. Always. Don't forget it, okay?"

"Yeah, man, really, we love you."

"We love you Spence."

"We're proud of you Reid. Best little brother I never had."

"Sweetie, you're the sexiest little genius there ever was."

"…"

"Rossi."

"…"

"_Rossi!_"

"Fine! Jeez… Look, you're strange. But, you're a good Agent. And… and a good man. It's been an experience working with you—as well as a privilege."

"Aw, that was so sweet."

"Grandpa my ass…"

"Come on, do you not hear yourself? You're so crabby-old-man-shooing-kids-off-his-sidewalk-esque. Right Reid?"

"Reid?"

"Reid!"

"Reid…"

"Reid?"

"Reid!"

"Reid." Reid's head snapped up and with a start he realized he was in what looked to be some kind of field. Long, willowy shards of grass swayed gently against a breeze. The green stretched on for miles, an open field of the sage-colored blades to dance. He was sitting on a smooth, mahogany stool staring at a chessboard that was in the middle of a complex looking game.

"Reid. It's your move." Gideon said, eyes fixed on the pieces in front of him.

"_Gideon_? W-What are _you_ doing here?" Reid's eyes imitated saucers at the nonchalant stance of his opponent.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "How am I supposed to know? You said it yourself; I'm merely a manifestation of your unconscious mind. I couldn't possibly know why you brought me here. But it is your move still."

Reid glanced down at the board. It was beautiful, the intricately carved wood… gorgeous.

He paused, stealing of glimpse of his former mentor, and then resigning back to the table. He reached forward, hesitating for just a moment, before sacrificing his pawn for the life of his queen.

And so they played. Calculating. Methodical. It was so real, Reid had a hard time imaging it was really a dream.

Reid moved his bishop in place.

"You're dying, you know." Gideon spoke conversationally.

Bishop dances with his knight.

"At first you were dreaming. But you're dying now. Suffocating, slowly losing all your oxygen. Until your breathing becomes even slower, and then suddenly it's your last."

Bishop strikes. Decoy. Takes out the queen instead.

"It's probably better you fell asleep, actually. Your breathing is more controlled. It might have bought you more time. Not that it matters now."

Knight slays Reid's bishop. Necessary loss. Rook is now on the hunt.

"Your team is looking for you. They're worried. They caught the unsub, but he won't say where you are. They're trying to find you."

Rook takes out his rook. Reid is winning but in a game like chess you can never really win until the end.

"It won't work. You're so far gone that they won't be able to save you. You're dying and when you're dead they'll feel like it's their fault. It isn't of course, but it'll be curious to see how it affects everyone."

Rook knight and bishop are after the king. Only the rook survives. Worth it.

"Team dynamics… the hierarchy of a family is such an interesting thing. They go through so much together. Give and take. Push and pull. Laughter and tears. Such opposites in such unity are so very curious, don't you agree?"

His king is now vulnerable. Rook and queen stalk together. Lionesses and gazelles. Dancing. Fighting. Living and dying.

"I had a family. At many different times, in fact. They were all different, but the structure was the same. I left most of them. That's one of the things I'm best at—leaving. I'm also quite inept at being regretful."

Rook slays pawns. Queen comes from behind. King is being cornered.

"You're dying. Is it scary? To know? I suppose not. Fearing death seems like such an arbitrary thing, doesn't it? There's life and there's death. You're either alive or dead. When you're dead, you're not alive to worry about being dead. And when you're alive, you're not dead so why worry?"

Rook takes out the last bishop. Queen is steadfast. King is pinned.

Game over.

Reid wins.

"Your team is here now. But they're too late. It's a pity really. The world could use more exceptional chess players."

Checkmate.

"Goodbye Reid. I enjoyed our game so." Gideon grinned, and Reid found himself smiling back. He wanted to reciprocate the sentiments, but suddenly Gideon was sucked away into darkness. A vortex of the black swirled everything around its mouth, pulling in the world as light crumbled to its will. Everything was spinning and someone pulled the plug on the sun, because the light was gone. Everything was gone, flying away like it was being drained down a kitchen sink.

_ Reid…_

He recognized his name, but couldn't seem to open his eyes. He wanted to open them but he was just so _tired_.

_ Reid…_

Louder. Closer. But not enough. Reid tried to draw in a breath, but everything was so wrong. His chest burned, and his mind was fizzing like a soda.

"Reid!"

He heard scraping and desperate calls. They were coming; they were digging to find him! But his control over his muscles had faded to nothing, and he really was quite tired.

"Reid!"

The darkness that he feared so much was oddly comforting now. It whispered in his ear, and beckoned him to it. It was so warm, like one of those sweaters his mother made him wear on chilly evenings.

His mother! He couldn't leave his mother behind. No, his mother needed him.

He tried to compromise with the darkness. Tried to reason with it, but the darkness only tightened its grip on him.

There was a loud snapping noise and lots of shouting. Honestly, people could be so rude sometimes. Couldn't they see how exhausted he was?

Things were pulling at him, yanking his limbs, and touching his neck. So invasive to a man simply trying to sleep.

Someone was crying. He was sure of it. No—two someones. Three maybe? Four even? Oh, who knew, anyway? It didn't matter.

"Reid, please, wake up. Oh God, buddy wake up. Please, kid, I'm begging you."

"Medic! Where's the goddamned medic?"

"Oh, Spence…"

"Reid! Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no."

"Reid, just hold on. Help is on the way."

But didn't they see? He was fine. He was just a little tired. And since when was that a crime? He just needed a quick nap. He was _so_ very exhausted…

"Spencer, God, why? W-why?"

"No. No, no, no, no."

"Get the fucking medic over here!"

"One, two, three. One, two, three. Come on, Reid. Wake up. One, two…"

"… Morgan…. Morgan there's no pulse…"

_Don't worry,_ Reid wanted to say, _you'll be fine without me. _

The darkness was snug around Reid's skin. It was surprisingly warm and comfotable, it trickled against him, staining him, and forever capturing his body in its clutches, just as he had suspected. He floated away into the darkness, falling farther away from the voices calling out to him and deeper into the wonderfully languid darkness.

_He could dream, and dream, and dream in the darkness…_

_ Family. Tears. Laughter. Team. Death. Life. Love._

_ Checkmate._

The lightening had struck.

* * *

><p><em>Because I could not stop for Death<em>

_He kindly stopped for me —_

_The carriage held but just ourselves_

_And Immortality._

Emily Dickinson

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever, owned Criminal Minds. I do not even pretend to own it. I do however own my mind. And a laptop. And a TV. Also a bag of caramel corn-but that's neither here nor there. So basically: you no sue, I no copyright infringe, kay?<p>

So, I am hesitantly posting this as it is my first published fic ever. Bah. Nerves.

Also, Corvallis, Oregon, is a real city. It is a lovely, beautiful place I imagine, though I've never been, and I apologize for letting a fictional serial killer loose in it. And, in case you didn't know, the number sequence Reid recited in his head was the beginning of the Fibonacci sequence.

I'm contemplating making this a twoshot and posting another chapter from the team's point of view. Thoughts? Feelings? Emotions? Pie?

I do hope you enjoyed it! This is unbeta-ed so any and all mistakes are mine-I try to edit as thoroughly as I can, but often times silly mistakes can fall through the cracks.

Pretty please review and tell me what you thought, yadda, yadda, yadda, funny Seinfeld references and such.

Thanks a bunches and a munches and a punches for reading!

-Yellow


	2. Of Moments And Loss

_Grief is the price we pay for love._

Queen Elizabeth II

* * *

><p>Life is comprised from millions and millions—billions, even—of moments. Of pauses and seconds and thoughts that freeze the world around you for that one instant.<p>

The moment Derek Morgan realized that his teammate, co-worker, surrogate little brother, best friend or whatever the hell you wanted to call him, was missing, he flew into full on panic mode.

When Reid didn't come back after ten minutes from his quick run for coffee, Morgan _knew_. He knew that something was wrong. He would swear that he had a sixth sense when it came to the kid, which was often useful seeing as he was practically a magnet for lunatics. And when he went to find Reid with Prentiss after twenty minutes, and found only the cooled over cups of untouched coffee and his cell phone, spidering cracks crawling on the screen, lying on the ground, coupled with the oh-so-noticeable similarities between Reid and the previous victims of their current bad guy, he _knew_ that the day would not be a good one.

The team jumped into action immediately, it was the only thing they could do. But leads ran dry, until there were none at all, and hours slipped futilely through their hands. So they stopped, and started over completely. The profile. It was the only thing they had left.

"You what's bugging me?" Rossi had asked to no one in particular, scrutinizing the crime scene photos on the board. "This guy," he continued, "doesn't even see the victims die. He just buries them. Where's the gratification? Where's the satisfaction if never even gets to see the bodies? We know he revisits his crime scenes, we know he gets off on killing them. But how? He profiles as someone who needs to see the body, needs to know what he's accomplished."

A moment. A pause had settled on the room, blanketing over the buzz of worry that crackled between everyone.

Hotch broke it, snapping open his phone, and dialing Garcia's number.

"Garcia, I need you check and see if anyone who helped dig up the victims over laps on the cases."

Another moment had passed, filled with the fluttering clicks of her keyboard. And then, just like that, they had it. A name. A person. A human being to fill in for the previously invisible monster. The excavator on all the cases: Evan Nolan. He fit the profile. It was enough.

"Bring my baby home." Garcia's request was strong, even as it came through the speakers. A moment, and then a promise. A terrible, horrible promise that never came to be.

But Morgan didn't know that, not yet. He tightened his knuckles around the steering wheel, muttering a curse under his breath as he powered by a semi truck and to Reid. Hopefully, to Reid.

_How had they missed it? How had they not found Nolan in the few days they were there? How had they—_he_—let him get Reid?_

Tires screeched in protest at his violent stop, and the engine was still sizzling when his feet hit the ground, gun drawn, motioning to Prentiss to follow him around back as Hotch took lead through the front door.

Rocks crunched under his boots, completely unforgiving as he snuck low against Nolan's house.

A moment.

Prentiss waited a second, before unlatching his back gate, letting Morgan shoot forward, eyes and guns raking the area.

"FBI! Freeze!"

Nolan glanced at the two agents in his yard, one leg still in his rusted red pickup. A moment, bubbling with tension and decisions. Nolan flickered his eyes to his truck, and back to the guns trained on him. A moment. A decision.

"Don't even think about." Morgan leveled his shot to Nolan's forehead.

The weasel of a man brought his hands up, and shifted out of the cab. Prentiss had him in cuffs before he could process what was happening.

Morgan pulled him up roughly. "Where is he?" His eyes were icy and his voice was biting, relentless steel.

A moment, in which Nolan's wide eyes softened, melted into a disturbing glee, and his thin lips curled into a feral, excited for _all_ the wrong reasons, smile. Baring his gums, and his bilious teeth, stained in daisy yellow and ash tray gray, he breathed thickly straight into Morgan's face, "You'll never find him."

Morgan reacted in a flash, shoving Nolan back until he hit the rotting wooden post of his porch. He positioned his arm to Nolan's neck, and pressed down, _hard_.

"Is this what you like, Evan?" He hissed his name, almost spitting out like it left a bad taste on his tongue. "To suffocate them slowly?" Nolan's eyes were close to popping from their sockets as he clawed at Morgan's forearm. "Because I'm feeling extra nice today, I'm going to repeat the question, and this time? This time you're going to goddamned tell me where he is." Real, raw fear oozed from Nolan as his flailing slackened.

Prentiss was tugging at his side, but Morgan's cold eyes didn't leave Nolan's.

The bad feeling was getting worse in the pit of his stomach.

One word, one sharp bark of, "Morgan," from Hotch registered in his ears.

A moment. Morgan released Nolan, and clenched his fists, driving his fingernails into his palms until he felt a sharp bolt of pain jerk through his hand. He spun quickly, not daring to look at the man and risk setting off his temper again. It wouldn't help Reid. And that's all that was important: Reid.

Rossi was shoving Nolan in the back of a squad car, watching him carefully for anything that would be helpful in the interrogation room, when Prentiss called, "Guys, I've got something."

They all jogged back to her, squishing the hope that sprung within them. They knew better than to get their hopes up. They knew it would hurt that much more.

She was crouched next to Nolan's truck, ghosting her finger over the muddied tires. "False Solomon's Seal, or the Treacleberry. Reid pointed it out when we were out scouting possible dump sites."

She almost smiled at the memory.

"_Maianthemum racemosum, it's a Native North American flowering plant. Did you know that they're in fact edible? The young shoots taste kind of like asparagus. The plant, however, is too fibrous and bitter to be very appetizing. Though, the Ojibwa Indians would harvest the root of it and cook it in lye water overnight to remove its bitter taste and laxative powers."_

"_Thanks for the tidbit, Reid, but I don't think our unsub is going to change his MO to death by laxative anytime soon."_

"Look, it's the same plant, and it's fresh mud stuck with it. It's got to be the same location." _Please, please let it be the same place._

Hotch eyed the tire and then her skeptically. "I'm sure there are many locations where it grows."

Prentiss straightened, and leveled him with a slitted stare. "There was only one place where he pointed it out. Only one location where I saw it. A location where we also collected a lot of fresh mud on our tires." She recalled Reid specifically complaining about it. "That and the fact it was already a possible dump site are enough."_  
><em>

"It's thin." Hotch stated dryly.

"It's all we have. Do you have any better ideas, _sir_?" Her eyes flashed, challenging.

A moment—considering.

They broke at least a dozen laws collectively on the drive to Prentiss' lead. There was no time to waste, not when Reid was losing so much of it.

The SUVs hadn't even rolled back from the sudden and jolting stop when the BAU's finest, sans a genius, were hitting the ground, barking orders at the search party, and dividing almost instinctually to find their missing teammate.

The world felt like a giant Tetris game, with pieces falling into place, and others obstructing their plan. Dogs yipping, people yelling, feet thundering, hearts worrying, everything stopping and starting and meshing and colliding and desperate as they looked for Reid.

A moment. A silence that trapped everything in a glass bubble for just a moment, just a moment where everything was clear.

"I've got a fresh spot!"

The team was running, _racing_ to whoever had spoken. Shovels hit the dirt, and the hound that had led them to the mound of wet soil was happily slobbering over his trainer for a job well done.

Thick earth buried itself beneath fingers, snuggling into the loops of their prints and the concave shelters of their nails. There was so much dirt; Morgan never realized how deep, how solid the ground was before.

Dig, dig, dig, and then dig a little more. It was fading to hopeless, that they were at the wrong spot, that Reid was somewhere else, that they'd never be able to find him in the forest. He'd rot in the ground, never seeing—

_Thunk. _

The faintest glimmer of wood stood out drastically in its comparison to the dirt.

A moment. Morgan looked over at his teammates who seemed as frozen as him. They did it. They found Reid.

_They found him._ He had really been gone. The fact that he had been buried alive hadn't become a reality until that moment.

They were all elated to find him.

They were all crushed to _find him_.

A moment where something shifted from horrible dream to very real nightmare.

They all started shouting at once. Yelling to Reid, for Reid. Screaming, shouting, yelling, wailing his name out. _Begging_ his name. It was like a plea.

_Please answer us. We're here. Please be too._

A crowbar appeared in Morgan's hands and he was wondering what his body was doing as the beautiful sound of wood cracking vibrated across the sky. Splintering and crying out in agony as the dense material was pulled apart.

A moment, in which something that was so unyielding and firm became withered and broken to nothing.

Then they saw. Reid. There, lying. Eight arms shot out, grasping his body and hauling him to the soft grass ground that had previously been his ceiling.

A moment where the world was right again.

Except that… he wasn't moving. He was so still that Morgan could have mistaken him for asleep if his chest had been rising and falling to signify life flowing in and out of him.

Morgan pressed his fingers against Reid's neck, and tried to ignore the quiver in them.

His skin was smooth and unmoving. But then… there!

A moment.

A beat.

Sluggish and all wrong but he wasn't gone.

Not yet.

Morgan shifted his sitting position so that he was looking down at Reid. He placed his hands over his chest and pushed. Steady.

He couldn't give up. Reid would never give up on him.

Just come back, he wanted to say. Come back, because didn't Reid understand? Come back, because he's not allowed to die, because Morgan's best friend _couldn't_ die. Come back, because he never got the chance to tell Reid how much he means to Morgan. Come back and he promises to never ever ruffle Reid's hair again because he knows how much it annoys him. Just come back and he'll buy Reid coffee for a month—no a _year_—for the rest of Reid's goddamned _life_, he promises. Come back, please, and he'll never tease Reid again, never laugh at his expense, and always, _always_ be there for him.

"Reid, please, wake up. Oh God, buddy wake up. Please, kid, I'm begging you."

Rossi watched, refusing to feel helpless. Reid was going to be _fine_. He wasn't going to do that to the team, he'd never break them up like that. Everything would go back to normal, and Rossi wouldn't have to deal with losing someone else. He couldn't worry. He couldn't panic. Reid just needed help, and he'd be _fine_.

"Medic! Where's the goddamned medic?"

JJ felt a chilling tingle dart down her spine and knew it had nothing to do with the weather. Reid was sprawled out on the fallen leaves and broken blades of grass, and it reminded her of those times when Reid would baby sit Henry and fall asleep on the couch with her baby curled up on his chest, the blue light of the television flickering on their faces. Her body was flowing ice through her veins, and tears slid silently down her cheeks and she thought of Henry and she thought of her sister and she thought of Reid and it _hurt_.

"Oh, Spence…"

Prentiss ran, she flew through the mess of branches and leaves that scratched at her face, but she didn't notice. She was the farthest away from Reid when she got the call on the radio, and she hadn't slowed since. Her breath came through heavy wheezes, to thick, tight lungs made of lead. Her legs burned and bargained and pleaded for her to just stop for a second, but she pushed them harder and fought off the foliage. Finally she stumbled through the clearing and called out Reid's name before she even saw him. He was pale. And not his usual pale that she often made vampire jokes about in her head, but he was a nauseating pale that she knew all too well. Images flashed in her mind, of all the dead bodies she'd crouched over and examined, and she felt it before it was ever declared. Because he was just so pale. And it wasn't right. Not Reid. Never Reid.

"Reid! Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no."

Hotch's hand curled around Reid's neck, staying and praying to feel the tiniest hint of movement, and he glanced at everyone. Morgan, who was letting steaming tears drip down his chin and stain Reid's shirt. Rossi, who was doing everything he could to not look at Reid. JJ, who was crying calmly and had something dark and glinting in her eyes that frightened him. Prentiss, who was shaking her head and muttering to herself. He turned back to Reid, who looked so motherfucking serene it melted all of his walls to a pitiful puddle of nothing. He was supposed to be the rock, the leader. He was supposed to hold it together. So he did exactly what he was supposed to. He was comforting, and strong, and reassuring. He lied.

"Reid, just hold on. Help is on the way."

JJ choked on a sob, and her heart became an arctic wasteland just like the rest of her. Reid was barely even gone and she already missed him. Nothing would be okay again. "Spencer, God, why? W-why?"

Prentiss shook her head, and squashed her palms against her temples. It wasn't supposed to end like that. Reid was the good one, he was the innocent one who was so horribly contaminated from his past, he was kid that was stronger than everyone else. He couldn't go. Not him. It wasn't fair—it never would be. He was so _pale_. "No. No, no, no, no."

Rossi tore his eyes from Morgan. He was failing. Reid was… _fine_. Reid was going to be _fine_. Everything would be _fine_. It had to be. "Get the fucking medic over here!"

Morgan was trying. He was trying to save Reid, he was trying not to break his ribs in the process, he was trying not to snap, to crumble right there and then. Don't take him God, he tried in his head, I'll do anything, but Christ, not _him_. "One, two, three. One, two, three. Come on, Reid. Wake up. One, two…"

Hotch released Reid. He knew he wasn't supposed to, that he was supposed to keep the promise of more, of the sun coming up and of light and of life, alive. But he couldn't. He couldn't lie anymore. They needed to face it. Even if it felt like someone had punched him in the gut. "… Morgan…. Morgan there's no pulse…"

Rossi signaled to the medic. _Fine_. Everything would be _fine_.

JJ was backing away. She couldn't watch. Everything was so _cold_ and it just _hurt_.

Prentiss was running away. It was wrong. It was all wrong, and she couldn't fix it.

Morgan ignored the medics, and kept trying and kept begging Reid to come back. He didn't care about Reid's ribs anymore, he just couldn't give up. Push, push, push, and push and nothing changed, and he didn't stop.

Hotch was pulling Morgan off of Reid who was gone and they both knew it. Hotch decided that truth wasn't worth seeing his agent so broken, and so he told him that everything would be okay, he told him of promises of sunrises, and they both accepted his lie for the moment.

A moment where the world was imploding into millions of razor sharp pieces that no amount of super glue would ever fix.

A moment where Reid was there.

A moment where he just… wasn't.

There are billions—trillions, even—of moments that make up life.

But most of the time it's not the moments that matter, it's the way that they string together. It's the way one predetermines the next. How moments can change, can alter the fabric of life so easily.

How a moment, a minute, an hour can change fact from life to death.

The most important thing about moments, however, is how they never end. How they fall, one after another, constantly swaying and changing and staying the same.

A moment and a family is shattered.

A moment and the wounds scar over until they become a painful memory.

A moment where sunlight floats down, bouncing across dense forest leaves and catching particles in its honey rays, and plays on the snow white, pure petals of a Solomon's plume.

A moment. The world is horrible ugly place.

A moment. And it's beautiful again.

* * *

><p><em>In three words I can sum up everything I've learned in life. It goes on.<em>

Robert Frost

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Still don't own Criminal Minds. *wistful sigh*<p>

So. . . ta da? I'm still nervous about posting this, but I can only really hope that everyone got the sudden and then slowed successions of the story, and that the correlations pleased you.

Humongous giant wonderful cinnamon scented thank you to everyone who reviewed, read, alerted, and favorited this story! I do hope the end pleases you!

I saw a lot of you did not want the lovely doctor to really meet his demise, but, alas and as it was forewarned in the summary, he has.

Although thankfully not for real! BAH! Who else loved, loved, loved, _loved_ the season premiere? Especially Reid's face off with the senator. All I could think was how I never knew that you could bitch slap someone from across a room, but once again the genius proves me wrong. Ah. I love badass Reid.

Sorry. Rambling.

Anywhoozle, please review and tell me what you thought of the ending. I apologize for any and all mistakes, they're on me no matter how much I try to edit them out.

Thank you so much for reading!

-Yellow


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